


Control

by Sarita1046



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Gem Sex, Gen, Masturbation, No one tell Scorpia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarita1046/pseuds/Sarita1046
Summary: Shadow Weaver struggles with her simultaneous power and pitiful dependence on magic.Musical inspiration: “From Darkness she Rises” by BrunuhVille
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> Brief mention of platonic student-teacher sleepovers that never ventured into anything underage/noncon.

Today has just been one of those days...

Waking to the sound of yet more vermin scurrying around in the grimy stone wall behind her bed, Shadow Weaver takes her sweet time before opening her eyes to the concrete ceiling above. Turning over toward the window to glimpse the pre-dawn glow already streaming through the thin black curtains, she releases a low groan.

Her head pounds with the promise of impending withdrawal, as she swallows with a throat and tongue that feel like paper. Sitting up, she grabs a towel from the back of the door, shaking out her black tresses and donning her mask on a path toward the ever-cold showers just before Hordak's quarters. 

Ears taking in the sound of sniggering voices, Shadow Weaver's head whips around to glare at the barely hidden cadets peeking around the corner before she steps beyond the swinging door of the washroom and immediately turns on the tepid flow of water. 

“Not half bad. If only she’d show more than her shoulders and ankles…” the words fall away, replaced by the shower spray.

Still, the echo of adolescent boys watching her change rings in her ears in a way that only adds to the throbbing in her skull. No time to feed today, she has to be out on the training field…although she knows she won't even have the energy to maintain her hovering maneuver the entire time. 

Not that she expects a change of pace will embolden her wards enough that they will slacken in their exercises. Indeed, she can't even deny the pang of excitement that comes from the knowledge that various cadets find her worth waking before sunrise to spy on. Even if one glance from her masked visage sends them scrambling away.

Sometimes, she thinks of the oldest female cadets…how she just barely reins in the erroneous desire brought on by withdrawals in time to avoid ensnaring one or another in her shadows, feasting on the non-magical energy that the Spell would drain within mere seconds – if only to ease the aching yearn for that wretched gem.

Though truth be told, for years now, her desires have all merged – possibly even before the Spell. She can only really enjoy any kind of intimacy when the experience is enhanced by magic. Even while teaching back on Mystacor, the only instances she’d really simply slept in the arms of another person without needing to manipulate magic for some kind of diversional supplement to enhance the encounter were the scattered nights on which she’d allowed Micah to stay the night in secret at his insistence of, “Please, Light Spinner, just one more spell…”

And even that had primarily served as a way to spite Norwyn – the fact that she invited an eager adolescent into her bed rather than the old sorcerer. Not that the Headmaster ever found out or anything transpired between her and Micah aside from fervent closeness. As much as the boy had attempted nuzzles to the point that she’d encouraged him to visit her washroom. The way that reverence never left his gaze – despite the fangs that Norwyn instructed she cover each day – provided enough incentive to risk the occasional communal slumber.

She shuts off the water. She mustn't dwell on the past. Micah is long gone, along with any connection to magic she can hope to control. 

Training goes about as well as can be expected.

She barely manages to cut short Catra’s incessant whining about Rogelio’s uselessness during simulation due to his loud breathing. Rounding the corner into the Black Garnet chamber, she tosses a sealing spell upon the doorway before choking back the gag that claws its way up her throat as the ache in her head spikes behind her eyes. 

Thrusting her palms upon the gem’s smooth surface, Shadow Weaver hears herself sigh at the steady flow of magic that thrums through her limbs like a blissful river. Silently, she places her mask on the floor beside her, as the shadows swarm in a living cloak to surround both her and the gem. Drawing a calming breath, she raises her left hand to palm a breast from the safety of her ebony cocoon.

Perhaps due to her thoughts earlier that morning surrounding communal nights and draining energy from cadets…she doesn't even heed the pang of humiliation in her gut, as she slides to the floor to let a hand slip beneath her robes. 

Seeking out the steady rhythm of energy coursing through her veins, Shadow Weaver times her strokes to match. Rolling a thumb firmly against her clit, she draws her knees ever so slightly upward, as she lets two fingers slide within her already soaked entrance. 

Within an instant, the nausea and invisible vice around her head ebb away into a haze of pleasure, as the magic sings across every atom. Already feeling impending release due to how much time has passed since her last session, she works herself faster, digits curling upwards against that delicious sponge inside. She doesn't even have the lucidity for embarrassment at the realization that she won't need to work up a fantasy to set herself aflame either, that knot in her belly only continuing to grow. Not bothering to quell a lascivious moan, she draws her lower lip between her fangs and tosses her head back, the palm of her right hand grasping at the too-flat surface of the Garnet behind her.

Adora has abandoned her, just like Micah. All that matters is that high that alleviates the reality of her sorry excuse of an existence - a pathetic, epitomal example of weakness. She has lost everything and has nothing to gain, save for this rare, agonizing release.

The moment one of her knuckles swipes lower to ghost over her other opening, a guttural growl permeates the shadows swirling about her form. Her lower lips throb with the gem’s heat, as that climbing tingle begins to crescendo. Sweat breaks out on her nape beneath her collar and across scarred cheeks, as her legs fall open. Shadow Weaver barely has time to caress that spot beneath her core with a fingertip before her face contorts in a picture of tortured pleasure, climax consuming her in a fit of trembles that soon draws out a roar. 

For a split second, her heart assumes a parallel rhythm to the Garnet’s pulse, as wave after wave of euphoria overwhelm her consciousness amidst the distant sound of glass shattering and the sensation of smooth, moist flesh convulsing around her digits. 

At the realization that she even has eyes to open again, she blinks to absorb the grey room bathed in that fuchsia light – nirvana crashing down like an avalanche. She withdraws her fingers, as the shadows draw away from her to reveal a florescent light lying in pieces across the room. She flexes her digits, black and sticky. She forgot to remove her gloves.

Unbidden, the tears begin to flow over marred flesh, rivers that no dam can hope to hold.


End file.
